Wednesday, 27 February 2013

School’s long anxiety and time slips pastwith waiting, in endless dreary things.O solitude, O heavy spending on and on of time . . . And then outside: the streets flash and ringand on the squares the fountains leapand the world becomes boundless in the gardens.And to walk through it all in one’s small suit,so unlike the way others walked and sauntered - ;O wondrous time, O spending on and on of time,O solitude.And to look far off into it all:men and women, men, more men, womenand then children, who are different and bright;and here a house and now and then a dogand fear changing places soundlessly with trust - ;O sadness without cause, ,O dream, O dread,
O endless depth.And so to play: ball and hoop and handstandsin a garden that keeps softly fading,and to collide sometimes against grownupsblindly and wildly in the rush of tag,but at evening quietly, with small stiff stepsto walk back home, your hand firmly held - ;O ever more escaping grasp of things,O weight, O fear.And for hours at the big gray pondto kneel entranced with a small sailboat;to neglect it, because other, identical yetmore beautiful sails glide through the rings,and to have to think about the small pale facethat sinking gazed back out of the pond - ;O childhood, O likeness gliding off . . .
Where? Where?

Wednesday, 6 February 2013

Call yourself alive? Look, I promise you
that for the first time you’ll feel your pores opening
like a fish mouth, and you’ll actually be able to hear
your blood surging through all those lanes,
and you’ll feel light gliding across the cornea
like the train of a dress. For the first time
you’ll be aware of gravity
like a thorn in your heel,
and your shoulder blades will ache for want of wings.
Call yourself alive ? I promise you
you’ll be deafened by the sound of dust falling on furniture,
you’ll feel your eyebrows turning to two gashes,
and every memory you have - will begin
at Genesis.

Nina Cassian1924 -
translated from the Romanian by Brenda Walker and Andrea Deletant
The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry

Sunday, 3 February 2013

Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;
Come close to me and let not Winter's touch
Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,
For fire is the only fruit of Winter.

Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for
That is greater than the shrieking elements
Beyond our door.
Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the
Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my
Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields
Makes my soul cry.

Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and
Place it by you, so I can read with tears what
Your life with me has written upon your face.

Bring Autumn's wine. Let us drink and sing the
Song of remembrance to Spring's carefree sowing,
And Summer's watchful tending, and Autumn's
Reward in harvest.

Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the
Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is
Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing
Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before
They are shut.
Find me with your arms and embrace me; let
Slumber then embrace our souls as one.
Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
All but our moving lips.

You are close by me, My Forever.
How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber,
And how recent was the dawn!

About Me

I was born and educated in Germany but I have lived in the UK for decades.
Before I started blogging, I had time for gardening, writing, reading, meeting friends, for poetry and literature, concerts and the theatre. I enjoyed cooking and feeding others.
Now, I do all these things if blogging permits.